


heaven ain't close

by TomBowline



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Devious Seductions, Internalized Homophobia, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, POV Lt John Irving, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - M/M/M, Verbal Humiliation, irving does have a big dick but its not like...a focal point, irving typical christian babbling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27129344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline
Summary: “Here’s how it will be,” he said, in a tone that from another would be gentle. From Hickey it was simply precise; a surgeon’s knife through the flesh of John’s resistance. “If you want him -” with a nod to Tozer - “you get me too.”
Relationships: Cornelius Hickey/Lt John Irving/Sgt Solomon Tozer, Cornelius Hickey/Sgt Solomon Tozer, Lt John Irving/Sgt Solomon Tozer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: Hickeyshipping 2020





	heaven ain't close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [attheborder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/attheborder/gifts).



He truly hadn’t meant it to turn out this way.

He had meant— He didn’t quite know what he had meant, now. To save Tozer, he supposed, or something else to that witless effect. To rescue him from the ill intentions - for surely, such they must be - of the caulker’s mate. He supposed he hadn’t realized how far Tozer had already fallen. And now— Now, he was most certainly being dragged down alongside.

He had invited Tozer to his cabin - and here, an uncharitable mind might cast doubt upon his good intentions, but it was only so they could speak more privately. Often men were more receptive to self-reform in solitude than they would be surrounded by their mates. Besides which, he did not trust Hickey not to insert himself if he happened upon their conversation (and how right he had been in his distrust). So he had sat beside the sergeant in his cabin - upon the bunk, for that was the only spot that would seat two - and confessed his concern with an earnest face. _You’re a fine sergeant_ , he had said, _the sort that makes Her Majesty proud of the service._ Tozer had smiled at this, which John could not but take as a good sign - even if there was something fey about Tozer’s eyes in that moment that he did not recognize. _There are some men,_ he’d gone on, _who seek to corrupt - I don’t like to speak of our fellows this way, but it is the truth - some men want to see the brave and strong among us falter._ Tozer had chewed his cheek then, tucking another smile into it, as if John had told a joke. Feeling his control over the conversation slipping though Tozer had not said a word, John had said hastily, _Some men may pretend to be our friends and then ask us to commit - sins - crimes -_ He’d stopped short, studied Tozer’s face, for the man was grinning broader than ever and had shifted himself to press the length of his thigh against John’s. He could feel Tozer’s warmth even through their layers. He had stammered, trying to pick up the thread he had dropped - and Tozer had cut him off, silenced him quite effectively. Pressed his face against John’s brow to brow, nose to nose, warm and close. Whispered, in a voice that sounded amused: “Crimes like this, Lieutenant?” And pressed in to kiss him.

Dizzy and dumbstruck, he had let Tozer seal his chapped lips against his own, let him lick into his mouth and nip at his tongue. By instinct only - truly - for he had not been kissed in quite a length of time. It was only that sometime in the infinitesimal moment between when Tozer pulled away and when John lurched in to follow him the instinct became a want, miserable and inevitable. He was not so weak as to seek this sort of pleasure, but he was not quite strong enough to resist being given it. 

When John was long since breathless, gasping into Tozer’s mouth with what words he knew not, Tozer pulled away abruptly with a face full of the only true contrition John had seen from him thus far. He looked wrong-footed, suddenly, as he stood and made to take his leave. Almost as an afterthought he clapped John’s shoulder and murmured, “I’ll be back,” with a ghost of that brazen smile. Then he was gone, leaving John to war with himself silently in his bunk: between the part of him that wished he’d seen the last of Tozer, and the part that wished he’d never left.

He spent a week after that first unfortunate lapse trying to avoid Tozer’s presence, attempting to ignore the sly smiles and whispered words he continued to see him share with Hickey. It was no concern of his own, he decided; he had done what he could, and clearly Tozer was beyond his help. A shame, it was, for he truly was a capable officer apart from this weakness of will - but John resolved not to think longer on it.

This was a resolution, it must be said, that he broke nearly every night. Not because he wanted to, not because he took joy in such a sin, but for the sole reason that if he did not he would be continually burdening his steward with obscene laundry. So to avoid the moonlit mess that would arise like clockwork he took himself in hand and - tried not to think at all. Failed. Thought instead of Tozer’s beard, Tozer’s voice, Tozer’s lips. The smell of him, tobacco-smoke and sweat and not an overabundance of soap. The hot line of his leg against John’s own.

By the end of the week, a terrible sort of unintentional reinforcement had occurred - the mere thought of the sergeant had John flushing hot with want. He went through his days in a purgatory of distracted shame that left him almost unaware of his surroundings. Which was, which must have been, how he came to his next and greatest lapse. 

He had been so busy keeping his head down, trying to avoid Tozer, that he careened straight into the full breadth of him crossing through the mess. He glanced up with a pained apology ready on his tongue; when he saw who it was he had run into, the words died where they lay. There was that smile again, with the same arcane edge to it that had been so mysterious to John that night. Now, though, he thought he knew what it was.

As Hickey seemed to materialize out of nowhere, fairly draping his arm across Tozer’s shoulders despite his smaller stature, John’s suspicion was confirmed. Here was the same look, polished to perfection, on Hickey’s face. 

“A word, Lieutenant,” the caulker’s mate instructed - it was an instruction, regardless of what rank ought to dictate - and John could only follow them from the mess with a prayer for his future. 

Rare was the space where three men could conduct a private conversation aboard ship, but Hickey - of course - seemed to have knowledge of them all. At length they came to a place to sit - wedged in on crates, knees nearly to chests, a small lamp to light their faces and a wall of more crates to shield them from view - and lay out John’s fate. For that was how it felt, as if Hickey were to deliver some final edict. However—

Hickey did not even speak. He simply nodded to Tozer, and suddenly John was being kissed again. Oh, oh, and how could he have thought to shun this? He could scarcely live without it, he was certain. Damn Tozer, damn the both of them and John as well for it, but he _wanted_.

And so of course - in a perverse repetition of their last encounter - this was when Tozer left off, pulling away just enough to breathe into John’s mouth and press his nose alongside John’s. And into the open wound of this fresh limbo, Hickey poured the vinegar of his commandment.

“Here’s how it will be,” he said, in a tone that from another would be gentle. From Hickey it was simply precise; a surgeon’s knife through the flesh of John’s resistance. “If you want him -” with a nod to Tozer, who was still grinning against John’s lips - “you get me too.”

This was too much, too far an indignity; John pulled back with a mutinous look to Hickey. “Why would I agree to that?”

Tozer spread his hands in some amalgam of a soothing gesture. Hands, John thought, which were rough and warm and strong, dear god, dear god. “Put it this way, Lieutenant.” John felt a pang at the use of his rank, but why should he? It was just as it should be. It was bad enough to be personally weak without having his standing diminished among his men, he should be thankful for the small mercy of the title. “How often have you done this before? How would you please me, given the chance?”

John could feel his face heating, and he knew his ears were blazing red. _Please him_. “I—” He was at a loss. He wished they would get to the point. He wished they would leave. He wished Tozer would stay.

Hickey obliged him, speaking up again from his seat - almost in Tozer’s lap, elbow leaning on Tozer’s shoulder, discomfiting in its intimacy. “I would hazard I know more about what Sol likes than you do, to say nothing of sodomy in the abstract. I’ll be there to keep you from making a fool of yourself,” - this with a pinched little smile that seemed to suggest he would rather enjoy watching John do that very thing - “and to make certain Sol has a good time.”

Truly - he did not - this was too much. He was not so far from God that he could agree to bare himself to a man like Hickey. This was a wicked man, John knew in his heart, and dangerously cunning. Even leaving aside the dire implications for John’s soul, Hickey would be sure to hold this over him with regard to his career. He saw a vision of himself as Hickey’s creature, a pet Lieutenant like Tozer was becoming a pet Marine. It turned his stomach.

But there was also Tozer himself to be considered. Tozer’s hand smoothing up his knee, Tozer’s lips still red from kissing him. Tozer’s eyes, sparkling at him in the low light. And Tozer’s heart, his soul. He could not be so lost as Hickey, John could not believe it. Perhaps if he gave this inch of sin to Tozer, he could stop him walking the miles Hickey would surely lead him on. Tozer’s long hair like a fire, his whiskers scratching as he nosed in close to John’s face again. If he could make himself dear to Tozer, he could save him. Tozer’s breath over his lips. He wanted.

He nodded, swift and shamed, and Tozer surged to kiss him hard. Yes, yes, here was his reward for the selling of his soul: the lap and drive of Tozer’s tongue, more precious than silver. The rough of Tozer’s hand on his neck like a length of rope. It is no accident that Christ was betrayed by a kiss, John thought, and then he thought nothing at all but the avaricious drone of _I want, I want._

It was an indignity when Tozer pulled out his prick there in that drafty corner, a further indignity when Hickey gave a low whistle to see his length. An officer, a lieutenant, rutting on the lower decks like some wayward seaman. Offering himself up for the likes of this. 

It was not quite reclaimed dignity that he felt when Tozer got his lips around his prick and sucked, but it was a balm to be sure. A temporary one, for too soon Hickey was grasping Tozer’s hair (John noted hotly the gasp this drove from Tozer) and pulling him off with a sound that had John blushing. 

“Would you like Lieutenant Irving to fuck you, Sol?” The words were casual, merely inquiring, but Tozer groaned like the creak of a mainsheet to hear them, which almost made up for the fact it was Hickey who was asking. He had his face tilted up to Hickey, now, close enough to kiss - but Hickey did not, only blinked at Tozer and waited.

“Yes,” Tozer whispered at last, casting his eyes to John. “Please?”

•••

Tozer had his fine Marine’s trousers off now, in a heap on the floor with his smalls, and was on his hands and knees as Hickey drove two fingers up the pink slackening hole of his hairy arse. Reluctantly John admitted - to himself only, of course - that he truly wouldn’t have known what to do. He hadn’t even thought to use wool-grease until Hickey had produced it. And the sounds Tozer was making, little huffs and groans, the pushing back of his hips against Hickey’s hand - well, clearly there was much to be said for doing it right. 

Hickey removed his fingers with another indecorous sound, leaving Tozer’s hole to clench weakly around nothing. He handed the grease to John with that same pinched smile. “Your turn now,” he said. “Hope you were watching closely.”

The first press of his fingers into the soft heat of Tozer’s hole was dizzying, intoxicating. He had never done this - the furthest he had ever fallen before tonight had been a hand on his prick, a fellow midshipman. It was so long ago, but he remembered it vividly; he could say for certain that this was better, did not even compare. _Worse,_ his mind supplied, _the greater sin bears the sweeter face,_ but he could not find it in himself to pay attention to such a thought at that moment. 

He tried - hating himself as he did so - to mimic what Hickey had done, to stretch and crook his fingers the same way. Added another, on Hickey’s prodding instruction. The results were rewarding: Tozer made the same sweet noises for him, fluttering wonderfully about his fingers. John thought he might come just like this, and wondered if that would be better, morally speaking.

It was moot. Hickey was stroking up over John’s prick with more grease, now - loathsome, needful pressure - and gripping the base of him to guide him into Tozer. He smiled at John as he did so, the sickly benevolent smile of a gang boss distributing a favor. _Look what I’m giving you. Remember this, now._

John stared away resolutely, but that was little better - so much better - his eyes fell to Tozer’s hole where he was pushing in. Hickey’s hand was on the small of his back, nimble and entirely too soft - pressing him forward to seat himself fully. He could not help a gasp: it was radiant, truly, better than he’d imagined. Tozer was slick and tight at once, his rim stretched obscenely taut about John’s base. John welled up with a sort of frantic joy, realizing that he’d managed to push the curdle of shame to the side for a moment and just _feel_.

Hickey’s murmuring in his ear, hot breath and tickling whiskers, did not even manage to break this strange euphoria. “He’s good, isn’t he?” And he was, he _was._ The part of John that would cry out in dismay to hear a man spoken of like that, like a piece of meat, was blissfully silenced to be replaced with a pulse of curious heat. “Loves it, listen to him.” John was listening indeed. The noise was muffled, now - Tozer had taken to biting on his knuckles, from the bits John could see of his front end - but quite distinct in the dark little space. 

“Loves to take it up the arse.” This punctuated with a drag of Hickey’s nails over Tozer’s cheek to further expose the place where he and John were joined, leaving white-red-pink trails in their wake. “Course, it doesn’t hurt you’ve got such a big tool. He likes a challenge.” He shoved roughly at the back of Tozer’s head, prompting a louder groan. “Oh,” Hickey tutted. “Can’t have that. Someone might hear.” He fixed his eyes to John’s as he said it, as he maneuvered nimbly around the crates they’d arranged to stand with his groin in Tozer’s face. John stared back at him, feeling slightly wild - but he had to blink eventually, and Hickey turned his gaze to Tozer with a sneer. “Need something in your mouth to keep you quiet,” he said, enunciating just enough that John could hear him. John couldn’t help the shudder that wracked him, the twitch of his prick in Tozer’s channel, at such words.

Hickey’s own tool was quite a bit smaller than John’s, just of a size for the head to jut out eager and obscene from his groping fist. But Tozer sucked and lapped at it as if it were the best thing he’d ever gotten in his mouth. John could only stare. If he had had the capacity to translate feeling into thought he would have recognized the swirling poison of desire and revulsion that had become second nature to him. As it was his cognition had all but disappeared - it was all bodily, now, all soft hairy planes of Tozer’s body under and around him, all slack flushed desperation of Tozer’s face turned to the side to take Hickey’s prick in his mouth. He could feel his crisis approaching mortifyingly quickly as he moved in Tozer. There, there, focusing on the spot that would make Tozer twitch and clench around him, trying to distract him from Hickey at his other end— John shuddered as he flooded Tozer’s hole with spend, gripping onto his waist for dear life. 

When he came to himself he felt horribly, unbearably grimy. He wanted nothing more than to tuck himself away and beat a swift retreat to some quiet corner where he could die with dignity when heaven struck him down. He had to leave.

“Put your fingers back in him,” Hickey told him, snapping his own fingers in a goading motion. “He’ll need something else since you came off so quick.” 

John did as he was told. Face burning, stomach turning, fingers driving a sound from Tozer that was more embarrassing now than attractive. “That’s right,” Hickey murmured, and John felt a flare of pleasure at the praise despite himself. 

John did not see Hickey come, only heard his satisfied hiss and Tozer’s wet choking sputter. “Haven’t trained him quite well enough yet,” Hickey sighed. Then quietly, to Tozer, swiping his fingers across the man’s face: “Take it all, you know the deal.” John felt a twitch where his hand was still working mechanically in Tozer, saw his cock spurt off where it hung red and heavy between his hairy thighs. Removed his fingers, for surely his job was done - but he felt he should do something more, somehow, should stroke over Tozer’s flank the way one would gentle an animal, should perhaps lap what was dripping from Tozer’s cock the way Hickey had told Tozer to take his spend. He wanted, with a vague yet burning immediacy, to do something tender for Tozer after having used him so thoroughly. 

A look at Hickey, however, told him he was no longer needed nor desired. He departed swiftly and resolved to put this egregious lapse behind him, and from thence proceeded to go about the rest of his day thinking of nothing else.


End file.
